


Desperate Measures

by ComingandGoingByBubble



Category: A Gentleman's Guide to Love and Murder - Lutvak/Freedman
Genre: F/F, F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2019-05-22
Packaged: 2020-03-09 18:37:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18922771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ComingandGoingByBubble/pseuds/ComingandGoingByBubble
Summary: Phoebe resorts to desperate measures when Sibella and Monty won't stop fighting.





	Desperate Measures

Monty and Sibella had been at it all day, snapping at each other, and bickering like children so much so that Phoebe wished she could send them both to their rooms in order to get some peace and quiet.

She did not know the cause of the argument, no, she hadn’t heard that above the screaming and the shouting, but she could only guess that it was something trivial, seeing as neither Sibella nor Monty would budge an inch in their temperament. 

At first Monty had come to her, all mutters and angry shouts and Phoebe hadn’t gotten a word in edgewise to even ask what was wrong.

Then Sibella had stormed in once Monty had left, her anger as cold as ice. She had sat there, brewing, her face stern as stone. Phoebe hadn’t dared to even say a word, in fear that Sibella might snap at her.

But now, here they all were, in the library.

Phoebe had retreated here in the hope of waiting out the storm, for surely by now their anger would have soothed over. It was nearing midday, how long could they possibly stay angry at one another? 

She had only gotten a few precious moments of peace with her book before Sibella and Monty had barged in, still bickering. Their spar of words cutting through the silence like a sharp knife.

Sighing, Phoebe closed her book, and then her eyes for a moment, trying to figure out what would make them stop fighting, for she dearly hated to see them both so harsh with one another. She hated how spiteful Sibella’s voice got, how her haughty temperament only increased when she was irate. And Monty… Monty was frightening when he was angry, he was ever so cross and was like a boom of thunder when thwarted.

She was so tired of hearing them shout at one another. So tired and so weary of it.

An idea popped into her head then. She mused on its deceitful nature of intent for only a minute before her head was pounding with Sibella’s harsh snapping at Monty. Damn the fact that her plan was rather conniving and desperately appealed to both Sibella and Monty’s sense of devotion to her, Phoebe just wanted some peace and quiet in this household for more than a few mere seconds.

It was not hard pretending to stagger up from the chair towards where Monty and Sibella stood near the door. It wasn’t even difficult to feign weariness and how tired she was on her face, for Phoebe was so exhausted. The fact that her face had paled only made the plan work in her favor.  She stumbled into a shelf of books for good measure, catching herself at the last moment before she did herself any real harm. 

The silence as Monty and Sibella’s attention slowly weaned off of each other and onto Phoebe was divine, and she relished in it. 

  “Darling, are you al-”

Phoebe didn’t let Sibella finish her question before she dramatically pretended to collapse to the floor, letting her knees give way and landing ever so gracefully on the floor of the library, closing her eyes.

She felt ever so wicked as Sibella and Monty came rushing over to her, Monty cradling her head, while Sibella held her hand, checking her pulse.

   “We should call a doctor,” she heard Monty say, letting his fingers run through her hair gently.

Sibella’s fingers tensed against Phoebe’s own.

   “The doctor is out of town remember, it will take hours for him to get here. We’ll have Shingle look after her.”

   “Shingle is not a trained nurse, what if something is truly wrong? Would you have her die?” Monty snapped back at Sibella.

Sibella’s nails dug slightly into Phoebe’s fingers, and Phoebe tried hard not to wince, although she convincingly made the noise sound like a whimpering moan, to which Sibella only held her hand tighter and Monty cupped a hand to her cheek.

    “For goodness sake, Monty! She is not going to die, she has a pulse. And how dare you think I would want her to die!” Sibella’s voice was thick.

    “We should get her to her bed, let her rest while I call the doctor.”

     “No, she should stay here. If she hit her head, moving her would only be worse,” argued Sibella.

     “You said so yourself that she was fine and doesn’t need a doctor, now are you changing your tune?”

Sibella cursed loudly, and Phoebe flinched at the sound for hearing such words come out of Sibella’s pretty mouth was rather unexpected. 

     “Goddamnit Montague, must you act like a child!” she scolded.

     “I daresay Sibella, cursing does not become you. What would Lionel say about his pretty little wife saying such things?”

It was a low blow, even for Monty. 

The silence that fell afterwards was deadly and Phoebe decided it was in that moment that she needed to wake up. Ever so slowly, she fluttered her eyelids and then fully opened them. 

Monty’s hand was still on her cheek, but his fingers were still and ice cold.

Sibella was glaring at him, from where she sat on the other side of Phoebe, still holding Phoebe’s hand, but her grip too was tight and cold.

     “What- what happened?” Phoebe managed to croak out in a whispered tone, looking at both of them.

     “You fainted, my sweet,” Sibella got out between tight lips. 

      “You’re alright now though,” Monty stated quietly. His fingers brushed against her cheek.

      “I’m glad that you two were here to help me,” Phoebe said with a small smile, trying to ease the tension between the two of them.

Sibella’s face softened slightly, as did Monty’s, but that was all Phoebe could manage before they once again started bickering over whether or not she should go to bed or continue on her day as planned.

Phoebe, for what it was worth, kept her head on the floor, and breathed in deep, for it seemed as if nothing would quell their anger for today.

Perhaps she might retire early, claiming a headache and let them keep at it. Surely they would grow tired of fighting tomorrow morning…

Phoebe could only hope, for the sake of her sanity, that the fighting would stop eventually.


End file.
